


If I'm Right, It's Worse

by Make_It_Worse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jeffrey wears tinfoil hats, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not the greatest ending but not the worst it could be, Stepford Wives AU, They're all robots, no actual depictions of rape but protect yourself, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 08:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18116708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: Hank turns toward the voice, “Christ.” He flushes at having said anything aloud, but Elijah gives no indication he heard. The man approaching them could give the receptionist a run for her money in the looks department.He’s slim and fair with delicate freckles dotting his face as if purposefully placed to be as appealing as possible. “You must be our latest guest! My name is Connor,” his grip is warm and sure in his hand.“I see you’ve already met my husband,” Connor’s smile is sweeter than maple syrup when he lays eyes on Elijah. It makes Hank’s teeth hurt. When Elijah’s hand wraps around Connor’s slim waist, Hank decides in addition to too many teeth, the man has ridiculous eyebrows.__This was supposed to be a twitter fic, but it got out of control long so I'm posting it here for ease of reading. The pace is faster than my usual fics and the plot development is rapid.You can find me onTwitter:)





	If I'm Right, It's Worse

Hank owes a lot to Jeffrey. Jeffrey got him into that program, drove him himself. He took all of Hank’s shaky calls and came to visit him once the facility deemed Hank well enough to not relapse. He had his first sober holiday dinner with Jeffrey’s family.

So when Jeffrey came to him asking for a favor, Hank wasn’t in a position to turn him down. In fact, he’d leapt at the chance to help.

The request had started innocuous enough, “Kathleen and I took a trip over the break with the girls. To that lakeside resort—you know the one, it has all those high-tech amenities.” Hank nods, waiting. Jeffrey always liked to spin a story before he got to his point. “Something weird about it, though.”

 _Here we go_ , Hank thinks to himself. He loves Jeffrey like a brother, but the man could be a card-carrying member of the tinfoil hat club at the slightest inconsistency.

“I met the director while I was there—don’t look at me like that, I didn’t seek him out—and he was…not right. None of the people that live there are right, honestly. Too damn nice.”

Hank snorts, “Maybe you’ve been hanging around assholes like me too much. Christ, Jeff. People being nice is enough to set off the ol’ danger alarm now?”

Jeffrey scowls at him, but he’s not ready to let it go, “I want you to check it out. Unofficially. They know my face and my job; I don’t think any of those plastics would give anything up willingly.”

“Plastics, Jeff?” Hank arches an eyebrow at him.

“Fuckin’ hell. The girls have been big into _Mean Girls_ this month. Give me a break.” In the end, Hank agrees to go to the “fuckin’ hoity-toity town,” so long as he gets paid leave while he does it, “I got a mortgage, Jeff.”

He follows the signs to reach _The_ _Pleasant Ridge Resort_ until he spies the main cabin in a cluster of picturesque log houses. Children laugh and splash on the lake shore while indistinct adults wave from paddleboats. Hank waves back, the first inkling of _well, that’s weird_ crossing his shadow.

He gives himself a mental shake. Best not to let Jeffrey’s biases taint his investigation. So what if complete strangers waved at him. They’re being nice—not weird. Definitely nice.

The blonde at the front desk is excruciatingly beautiful. Hank thanks god he has a reason to be looking at her, “How can I help you?” Her voice is as sweet as her face.

With minimal blunders, Hank checks in and is shown to his cabin by an overly eager man named Simon, “You will just _love_ it here, Mr. Anderson! Everyone is super friendly, so feel free to give any of us a shout if you need anything!”

Hank drops his bags and watches a family of three settle down to a picnic. A young girl bites politely into her sandwich and thanks her mother pleasantly for preparing a nutritious meal.

He calls Jeffrey immediate, “Hey, Jeff?”

“Hiya, Hank. Make it there alrig—,”

“Jeff, these people are fucking weird.” He can hear Jeffrey’s smug laugh, “I’m serious, Jeff. I just heard a kid say _thank you_ and _nutritious_ in the same sentence.”

Jeffrey’s laughter quiets down and he speaks in a low tone as if afraid the aliens on the mothership might beam him up if they overhear him, “I told you, Hank. Be careful. The place gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

He ends the call, promising to check in daily. Deciding he might as well mingle with the fruitcakes living at this place, he wanders down to the family still munching on—, “Are those cucumber sandwiches?”

The young girl nods enthusiastically, holding one out to Hank, “Would you like one?”

The woman, who is clearly the mother of the trio, frowns at the girl, “Alice! Where are your manners?” Hank gives her a bewildered look.

The young girl seems shocked to the core, “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry! Would you like one, _sir_?” Her mother gives her a pleasant smile and a pat on the head.

“Our Alice is young. She’s still learning.” Hank does his best not to stare at the family. He accepts the pumpernickel slice with a _thanks_ and the girl beams at him.

The father sticks out a hand and Hank can’t help but think he married well in life, “Nice to meet you, mister. I’m Todd.” The man’s grip is as weak as his limp hair.

“Hank,” he offers with a smile he doesn’t feel. He joins their picnic at Alice’s urging. Even after all this time, he can’t seem to tell a child no. He wonders if that will ever go away.

Years of training kick in and crawl up his spine in a warning. Trying to conceal the action by running a hand through his loose hair, he glances around to see a large, hulking man watching them. There’s nothing sinister in his stance, but Hank can read barely concealed anger in his face.

 _Interesting._ He makes a mental note to try to talk to the man later, “Hey, Alice.” The young girl turns with an expectant smile, eager to help, “Who’s that?” He nods toward the man whose back is now facing them as he pulls weeds from a flower box near the lake.

“Oh, that’s Luther. He’s mama’s friend.” The woman glances faster than lightning at her husband before fixing an almost mechanical smile on her face.

“We’re friends with everyone here, Alice.” Her voice is calm, but a wild gleam flashes across her eyes. It’s gone before Hank can examine it closer. Alice nods affably in agreement and Todd’s shoulders relax.

Having had about enough of the creepy, milk toast family, he bids them farewell. Too late, he realizes he never caught the woman’s name.

He spends the afternoon checking over the resort’s itinerary. Guests are welcome to spend their time as they please, but activities and events occur throughout the day. Management strongly encourages them to join.

“Hello, Hank,” a warm hand grips him by the shoulder and he has to resist the urge to throw whoever is touching him. He hadn’t heard an approach.

Turning he sees the sparkling white teeth of a man who doesn’t appear to know how to smile like a regular person. “Hello,” he offers warily, disliking him on the spot.

“I’m Elijah Kamski. This is my resort. I try to personally greet all guests upon their arrival. I apologize for my tardiness.” Hank nods as if in understanding. The absurd politeness of all the people here is starting to get to him.

“I’m Hank Anderson. I’m here to—,” his mind supplies _investigate your creepy ass resort_ , but he ignores it. “I’m here to relax. Take a break from the ol’ nine to five, ya know?”

The man gives him a slight bow, “Of course! You will find state of the art amenities here. Our spa boasts the latest treatments. After just a few adjustments you’ll find you haven’t a care in the world!”

“Right,” Hank says the word slowly, “I’ll be sure to look into it.”

He tries to think of an excuse to stop talking to the man whose face appears to be ninety percent disturbing smile. Deciding food is always a good way out, he’s prepared to pretend like he hadn’t just eaten fifteen cucumber sandwiches when someone calls out, “Elijah!”

Hank turns toward the voice, “Christ.” He flushes at having said anything aloud, but Elijah gives no indication he heard. The man approaching them could give the receptionist a run for her money in the looks department.

He’s slim and fair with delicate freckles dotting his face as if purposefully placed to be as appealing as possible. “You must be our latest guest! My name is Connor,” his grip is warm and sure in his hand.

“I see you’ve already met my husband,” Connor’s smile is sweeter than maple syrup when he lays eyes on Elijah. It makes Hank’s teeth hurt. When Elijah’s hand wraps around Connor’s slim waist, Hank decides in addition to too many teeth, the man has ridiculous eyebrows.

“Why don’t you show Hank around, darling? Give him a tour of our facilities?” Although posed as a question, Hank can hear the command in the tone. Connor gives him another obliging smile before agreeing.

With limited options, Hank follows Connor from building to building. He recites information about each one as if reading from an encyclopedia. Hank isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but the man seems to go into an idle animation if Hank lingers for too long.

He plucks at his sleeves, shifts from left to right, touches his watch without checking it, and then lapses into non-movement for about fifteen seconds before repeating it all in more or less that order.

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” Hank asks after the fifth watch touch. Connor glances down at his fingers, momentarily dazed.

“I apologize, Hank. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I’ll make an adjustment in the future.” Connor seems quite serious, but Hank can’t help staring.

“An adjustment?” Connor’s eyes appear to glaze over for a moment. His pinky twitches twice, tapping on the watch.

“Look at me, talking about myself again! Let’s finish our tour.” It’s a bizarre way to change the subject, but Hank lets it go.

At dinner that night, Hank determines that Elijah is the only person with real authority in this place. Everyone who lives here looks to him for answers and they follow his recommendations as if by law.

He’s also disturbingly possessive of Connor. Anytime Connor speaks to someone else, Elijah is watching. When Connor eats, Elijah watches. When Elijah speaks and can’t look at Connor, his hand is on him, anchoring him to the chair.

“Hey, Jeff,” Hank exhales as he collapses onto his bed. “Did you ever talk to the Kamski guy for more than a minute?”

“You mean the guy with the eyebrows?” 

Hank snorts at the response, “Yeah, that’s the one.” Jeffrey sucks in a breath and Hank knows he’s about to get an earful of crazy, “Just the basics, Jeff.”

“Fine. There were a lot of things, honestly. He was just a creepy dude. The biggest red flag to me, though, was he kept trying to get me and Kathleen to come to his place at night.”

“Whaddaya mean?” It’s been a long time since Hank had a spouse to attend evening gatherings, but he doesn’t find it odd that Kamski would want to mingle with other couples.

“He kept saying we needed _men time_. As if Connor and Kathleen would scamper off to the kitchen and bake us brownies or something. And, no, he wasn’t coming onto me. If anything, I got the feeling he wanted Kathleen alone with Connor.”

“Well, I don’t think you have any worries there, Jeff. Kamski’s the most possessive man I’ve ever seen. I don’t get the impression that he wanted to share if you follow my drift.”

Jeffrey makes a negating noise, “Not like that. None of those people are right, Hank. The longer I was there, the more I saw them change. Even the kids. One showed up after us. An absolute hellion. By the time we left, she was a well-mannered little machine.”

Hank thinks of Alice and can’t help but agree, “I don’t think Kamski is gonna give anything up—assuming something is actually going on here.” Fowler sighs but concedes the point. Hank continues, “I think I have an in, though. I met a family today. Dad’s name is Todd. The girl is Alice. Didn’t catch the mother’s na—,”

“It’s Kara. That Kamski fucker says it wrong every time, though.”

“Right. Anyway, a beast of a man was watching them. Really didn’t seem to like the dad. He’s the only person who didn’t ooze overly perky happiness at my mere existence.”

Jeffrey’s asking him more about the man when a noise outside Hank’s window makes his hair stand on end, “Jeff, I gotta go.” He ends the call as Jeffrey splutters, tiptoeing to his door. He peeks out the peephole and has to bite back a shout.

A wide-open, chocolate-brown eyeball is pressed damn near up against it.

Yanking open his door, Connor stumbles as if lost, “Hello! It’s nice to meet you, Hank! You must be the new guest Elijah told me about! Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you!” Hank stares at the man, wondering briefly if everyone in this place is high on red ice.

He pushes away that explanation. One, it’s ridiculous. Two, Connor doesn’t have any of the symptoms of a junkie other than the bizarre behavior.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” Hank offers slowly, wondering if it’s smart to be alone with someone who is clearly having an episode. Connor complies immediately by sitting cross-legged on the front stoop. “Christ, man. Not there.”

Hank extends his hand to help him up, but Connor’s only response is to twitch and lurch drunkenly to the right before standing up with his face pressed against the doorjamb the entire way.

Hank blinks heavily as Connor takes jerky steps toward the couch in his rooms, “Are you ok?”

Connor spasms at the question and grips Hank’s forearm with far more strength than he anticipated of such a slight man. “I’m not supposed to be here,” his voice comes out a terrified whisper and his smile looks sewn on.

“You’re…what?” Before Hank can convince Connor to provide a better explanation, the man is springing to his feet again.

He marches over to a coat rack before wrapping his arms around it, “Hello, love. How was your day? Do you require any of my special services?”

Connor freezes at several sharp knocks on Hank’s door. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a signal of some kind. Two sharp taps well-spaced out followed by three rapid-fire ones.

Elijah doesn’t wait for Hank’s permission to walk through the door, “Connor, darling. There you are!” Gripping him firmly around the arm, Connor’s eyes stare at the hand in horror.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he keeps saying it on repeat and genuine concern leeches through Hank’s veins.

“He’s clearly not well. He needs a doctor,” Elijah positions himself slightly between Connor and Hank at the declaration. It’s a subtle shift, but Hank recognizes the defensive posturing.

“He’s quite alright, I promise. He takes sleeping medication. He sleeps beautifully now, but sometimes he sleepwalks. He wakes up confused, saying the strangest things. Just last week, I found him discussing the merits of calculus with our toaster!”

Elijah breaks off in what he must assume is a convincing laugh. Recognizing a losing battle when he sees one, Hank lets him leave with Connor to fight another day.

“Be a dear and say goodnight to our guest, darling,” Connor throws him one last desperate glance and Hank hates himself down to the toenails for his inaction.

It takes a surprisingly long time for him to track down Luther the following day. No one seems to know who Hank’s talking about and he doesn’t want to blip on Elijah’s radar by asking the man directly.

Eventually, he tracks down Alice. He finds her playing in a sandbox while her mother reads a book on a nearby bench. Thoroughly consumed by the novel, she doesn’t notice Hank’s approach.

“Hey, Alice. Remember me?” He squats down to her level so as not to frighten her. She smiles brightly at him.

“I do, sir! I don’t have any more cucumber sandwiches for you, though,” she looks genuinely sad and Hank cringes at how young she is to already associate her worth with keeping men fed.

“That’s not a problem, Alice. I was wondering if you could help me solve a mystery?” Like all children, she perks up at the idea of being let in on a secret. At her nod, Hank continues, “I’m trying to find someone who lives here, but no one seems to know who he is.”

Alice wrinkles her face, “That’s silly. _Everyone_ knows _everybody_ here.” Hank smiles at her, feeling slightly unnerved by her tone.

“Well, that’s great. I’m sure you’ll be a big help then,” she beams at him and Hank’s heart clenches painfully. It’s been years since Cole died, but he could still find a bit of him in all children. Alice’s eyes crinkle just like his.

Ignoring his aching heart, he paints a smile on his face, “Can you tell me about your friend Luther? Do you know which house is his?” He expects her to answer right away, jabbering in the way of small children eager to share information. Instead, she frowns.

“I don’t know anyone with that name,” Hank doesn’t want to outright call her a liar; that won’t get him anywhere. The blatant mistruth is perplexing, though. She seems genuine despite pointing out the man the day before.

“You told me about him yesterday, remember?” Hank tries to jiggle the memory loose as best he can, “Your mama’s friend?” At the words, Alice’s eyes glaze over as if she isn’t seeing him and she goes unnervingly pale.

“Oh,” her voice comes out weak, and Hank worries she’s going to faint. “Him,” she says finally before pointing in the general direction of the last time Hank saw the man.

“Thanks, Alice. Maybe you should take a break from the sandbox to swing?” The suggestion does the trick. She clicks back into her usual self with an unsettling blink.

Squealing with delight, she drags Kara away from the bench, begging for her to push her. Hank strolls off, a smile on his face when he hears Alice shout to go higher. Some things never change. Children thinking they can fly in the seat of a swing is one of them.

Surveying the general area where Alice had pointed doesn’t turn up much. Grumbling about Jeffrey and his wild goose chases, Hank is about to call it quits when something catches his eye under a nearby bush. Although the cabins butt up to the lake, the rest of the grounds are thick with trees and shrubbery.

Crouching down, Hank does his best not to shriek. He’s seen plenty of horrifying things in his career, but the sight of a brutally murdered man isn’t one he thinks he will ever get used to. He’s not certain at first if Luther is even truly dead.

There’s no blood, for one thing. But Hank knows the rigidity of a person no longer in the land of the living. He’s seen the thousand-yard stare of a man who will never blink again. The chunk missing from the side of his head kind of seals the deal as well.

A hysterical, panicked laugh wells up in his chest. A hand clamping down on his shoulder stifles it, “Elijah would like to see you.” Connor stares at the dead man. If he notices that his feet are inches away from a corpse, he gives no external indication.

Snapping in his face, Hank tries to reach him regardless, “Connor, are you even seeing this right now?”

“Elijah regrets that you had to witness a change of staff. He wishes to discuss it with you privately.” Hank stares at the dead man on the ground before glancing at Connor. He twitches and Hank wonders if maybe Jeffrey isn’t onto something about aliens walking among humans after all.

“Connor, this man hasn’t been fired. He’s dead.” Hank lifts his hands in a helpless gesture, trying to make Connor see reason.

“Oh, no. He will be fine after an adjustment.” Hank has significant concerns about these _adjustments_ and very much doubts they can reanimate corpses.

“ _Connor_ ,” Hank doesn’t know if it’s something in his tone or something in Connor himself, but the man seems to fade into reality for a brief moment.

His eyes droop like someone very drugged or very drunk, “He’s…he did this. To me.” Connor taps at his head and wails out a laugh. The sound of it makes Hank’s skin crawl.

“Did what?” Hank isn’t sure how much time he has before Connor’s switch flips again or before Elijah himself will materialize.

Connor’s hands fist into his hair, frustration clear on his face, “Don’t. Know. Trigger.” He makes several hiccupping sounds before his hand clamps around Hank’s wrist in an iron grip. “Elijah is tired of waiting.”

Connor drags him through several yards, ignoring the fact that Hank can’t walk through fences. Connor jumps them as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world to plow through bushes in an effort to take the most direct path to his final destination.

Hank spots several people out of their homes, but he doesn’t bother to ask them for help. They’re all standing motionless, watching in silence as Connor pulls him toward the cabin he shares with Elijah.

The man himself is lounging and reading the newspaper when Connor thrusts Hank through the front door. “Ah, Hank,” he smiles warmly at him as if greeting an old friend.

“The fuck is going on h—,” Connor’s hand flies out, the back of it striking Hank in the mouth. He tastes iron when he flicks his tongue across his teeth.

“Connor, darling. Dial it back a few notches.” Connor’s arm drops limply as Hank’s mind races. Whatever Elijah’s done to this man, he’s clearly done it to several others in this town if not all of them.

“I value obedience above all other traits, lieutenant,” the use of his rank gets his attention.

“Did your homework, I see,” Hank spits it out, not bothering to lie. He needs more _time_. If there’s one thing he knows about lunatics, it’s that they like to talk—most often about themselves.

“I did,” the smug tone makes Hank want to rip off both of the man’s absurdly manicured eyebrows.

“What have you done to these people? To Connor?” He knows he can’t appeal to this man’s sense of humanity or whatever lingering affection he may have for his husband. Still, he hopes Elijah will tip his hand or at least reveal one of his cards.

“Darling,” Elijah calls and Connor’s head snaps to attention, “Have I done anything untoward to you?”

“No, my love,” the response is robotic and horrifying. Connor twitches on the final word, dislike emanating from his body.

“Whatever the hell that was,” Hank points in Connor’s face, “it wasn’t love.”

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” The question is jarringly out of place and Hank senses a trap in the making, “Darling, would you kiss our guest?”

Hank tries to retreat, but Connor’s hand grips at Hank’s hair as if he aims to permanently weave himself into the strands, “Of course, dearest.”

Connor’s lips are soft. His tongue ghosts across Hank’s seeking entrance before nibbling at his bottom lip. Whatever perverse show Elijah is trying to engage him in, Hank is not having any of it.

He pushes at Connor’s face, but the man’s tongue protrudes from his mouth as if trying to ensnare Hank in its fleshy grasp, “Connor, stop it.”

“Oh, he can’t. You won’t be able to soon, either.” True fear slithers like snakes in Hank’s guts. _Think_ , his mind screams at him as if that wasn’t its primary function.

He has one clue. Trigger. One single clue and fucking hell if it means anything.

“Darling, be a dear and undress our guest,” Hank knows Elijah is going to play with his food before he eats it. He has no intention of being this degenerate man’s next meal.

When Connor hesitates, Elijah speaks sharply, “Darling, I asked you to do something.”

Connor’s hands rise to Hank’s shirt, fumbling as they attempt to simultaneously undress and refuse to undress him. Taking a stab in the dark, Hank mutters low enough so only Connor can hear, “Darling.”

His eyes go wide and Hank can see a brief glimpse of the real Connor flash from behind the mask. Pressing his luck he murmurs, “Take him out.”

Elijah is halfway through asking an amused, “What are you whispering about, lieutenant?” when Connor turns and charges him. He goes down with sickening ease. The fifth time Connor’s fist collides with Elijah’s face, Hank calls out to him to stop.

He doesn’t.

“Connor! Connor, you have to stop!” He tries to grab his bicep, but Connor continues swinging with inhuman strength.

“DARLING!” Hank screams the word, and Connor’s arm freezes in midair. His head turns to Hank, a pleasant smile plastered on his face as tears fall freely from his eyes.

Hank pulls him away from his bloodied husband, “It’s ok.” Connor collapses into his arms, chest heaving, the bizarre grin still frozen in place. Not knowing what else to do, Hank hugs him, “You’re going to be ok.”

Hank isn’t sure if he’s right, if anyone can undo the horror Elijah had wrought on these people. Even if he’s wrong, it’s a lie worth telling. He can sense the few moments of peace it brings Connor before law enforcement arrives to Hank’s call. 

Jeffrey gives him regular updates, but the news isn’t hopeful, “Whatever Kamski implanted in those people, they’re dependent on it.”

When Hank does little more than stare blankly at him, Jeffrey runs a hand over his face, “We can’t remove the devices.”

Wildly out of his depth, Hank asks the obvious question, “So?”

Jeffrey sighs, and motions at him to follow. They end up in Connor’s room. He’s still wearing that odd smile, “Hello, Hank!”

His tone is unnerving, oddly reminiscent of the first time they met.

“Hullo, Connor,” Connor responds by asking him if he’d like a tour of the facilities, twitching the entire time.

Silent and wide-eyed, Hank stomps from the room. Jeffrey rests a hand on his shoulder, “We did what we could. At least they aren’t being hurt by that man anymore.”

It’s not enough. It will never be enough, “What about the girl? Alice?”

He sees the answer in Jeffrey’s face, “Hank, don’t do this to yourself.”

Hank finds Alice’s room. Kara is sitting next to her in a torpid lethargy. At an angry gesture, Fowler explains, “Kamski didn’t devote an equal amount of attention to his…to these people. When we severed the connection some of them just…shut down.”

Hank watches the way Alice speaks to Kara as if she’s still there and wishes bitterly he’d never stepped foot in Pleasant Ridge, “Oh, mama. I met a new friend today!” Kara’s only response is to blink, but Alice continues on undeterred, “His name is Hank! He is so nice! You’ll—,”

Hank turns and marches out of the hospital. In the comfort of his own home, for the first time in several years, he reaches for a bottle that’s not there. He raises an empty toast to the lives he couldn’t save. “For Connor,” he murmurs into the night, before downing a swig of water.

He sets the shot glass down and picks up another, “For Kara and Luther.”

The water slides down easily and he grabs the last one, “For Alice.” He slams the shot glass onto the table with enough force that it shatters.


End file.
